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Helena was alert.

She could feel Claudia's anxious shuffling beside her. She could hear Pete and Steve hurry up the stairs from the gooery, and Pete's ensuing attempt to humorously badger Mrs. Frederic for answers regarding Myka's health – which were, of course, answers that he did not receive. She could see Artie and Steve biting their tongues to remain silent, curiosity and worry painted through the lines in each of their faces.

And she could smell apples.

She could smell it so strongly that she was sure that she tasted it in her mouth.

It had been quite some time since Helena had drawn in that particular scent – and even longer since she'd caught it in the Warehouse. And while she found it intriguing, she had more pressing things to concern herself with.

Primarily, the sound of Myka and Savannah bickering from within the Umbilicus.

"Mykey, you should be in bed," Savannah argued.

"I was in bed," Myka returned weakly. "Then I was called out of bed, and now I'm here. Artie said Mrs. Frederic asked to see me, and – don't!" Myka hissed the final word, and it emerged with more strength than any of her other protestations. "Don't touch the bombs, Savannah."

"Bombs?" Savannah sounded alarmed. "Why are there – ? You know what, forget it. I'm serious, Myka," she said firmly. "You're really sick."

"And I'm still really going. Scoot over; I need to punch in the code," Myka instructed.

It was no more than five seconds later that Helena could spot her lover in the entryway, but Myka didn't stir. She leaned feebly against the circular threshold with Savannah holding her elbow to provide support whenever she elected to move.

Helena surged forward to Myka's side. If it were possible, Myka appeared worse than when Helena had left her five hours ago. Her cheeks – once pink – were a flaming and disconcerting red, and the flush had taken down her neck and chest, as well. She was bundled in a university sweatshirt with sleeves that covered her palms, and if Helena weren't so concerned, she might have thought it endearing; as it stood, however, she could think of nothing beyond easing Myka to rest on the loveseat.

"Myka," Helena murmured powerlessly as her lover began to initiate a frail shove from the wall. She could feel Myka trembling against her. Helena reached an arm around her waist to stabilize the woman, and she softly encouraged her forward, until she, with Savannah's assistance, could sink Myka onto the sofa.

"Agent Bering," Mrs. Frederic greeted with a nod.

Pete twitched with the desire to move toward Myka, most probably to take a seat beside her, but Helena offered a glance in his direction before seating herself on the far end of the couch and lowering Myka's head into her lap.

"Sorry," Myka mumbled, lolling her head to the side to get a proper view of the Warehouse Caretaker. "I'm not feeling very well."

"I imagine you are not," Mrs. Frederic conceded. She then made a small motion with her finger, and – from seemingly nowhere – her bodyguard materialized behind them and offered Helena a file.

Frowning, Helena stretched her arm backward to accept it.

"I have located the remaining pages of James Braid's manuscript," Mrs. Frederic informed.

"Where were they?" Myka inquired, but shivered soon after.

Claudia swiftly moved to grab for the afghan throw that hung on the arm of the couch opposite to Helena. Savannah helped the redhead to wrap Myka up in it, eliciting an eye roll, but a nevertheless grateful, "Thank you," that wavered over Myka's tongue. The younger women swiftly took places on the floor, leaning against the loveseat.

"The matter is not where they resided, but whose possession they resided in," Mrs. Frederic inclined her head.

"Then who – "

"You've hauled her from rest that is quite evidently required, given her present state, so that you may speak in riddles that she hasn't the energy to properly work through?" Helena demanded. "I intend no disrespect," Lie. Furious, smoldering lie. Every disrespect intended, because Helena found this exercise to be nothing more than cruel and absurd. "However, if you've a point to make, then I advise you make it soon."

Apples, again. Sweet and sour and succulent on her tongue.

Myka fingers offered a small grip over her knee, but Helena was not to be comforted until Myka had taken to her bed at the inn. And then, with several panicking eyes in observance, Myka sat up and draped the blanket around her shoulders before lifting the file from Helena's hand.

"Who had the manuscript?" Myka whispered dimly.

"Adwin Kosan," Mrs. Frederic answered simply.

"A Regent?" Pete spluttered. "A Regent did this to Myka's cousin? Nuh-uh. No way. There's just no way, right, Mykes?" He whirled to face her, but his gaze met his partner's for no more than a moment before he spun back to face Mrs. Frederic. "Why?" He snapped.

"A group of Regents are responsible," Mrs. Frederic confirmed. "However, it was Mr. Kosan who took it upon himself to rectify this mistake. He has perished for his trouble."

"Perished?" Steve straightened and eyed the Caretaker intensively with folded arms.

"Perished, as in dead?" Claudia paled. "He's dead?"

"Yes," Mrs. Frederic nodded.

"What do – " Myka wetted her lips and sighed as she fought to muster the strength for her words. "What do the Regents want with Savannah?" And her hand fell to her cousin's shoulder and tightened protectively.

Savannah looked up and offered an uncertain smile, but Helena did not miss the brief, frightened glance she spared at the file clenched in Myka's left hand.

"Ms. Morgan has a gift," Mrs. Frederic claimed. "You, Agent Bering, are in possession of a scrupulous eye for detail. Your cousin is in possession of the same. However, her talent extends into the psyche of human expression, in contrast to your eye for environment."

Myka wobbled onto her feet, and Helena quickly moved around Claudia and Savannah so that she could hold her arm. But Myka was not content to stand. She moved toward the wall of Artie's office and frowned, but she leaned against it and tapped her fingers along the chilled stone behind her.

"Was it a test?" Myka asked quietly, several moments after casting her eyes upward from her anxious fingers.

Helena could hear rage in her tone.

"In a manner of speaking," Mrs. Frederic verified. "Several of the Regents have kept watch over her during your tenure with the Warehouse."

"Sure. Because they couldn't have just asked me," Savannah grumbled with a scoff. "No, they had to get all Jedi mind trick about it…"

Helena couldn't help the brief emotion of pride that swelled in her chest at the reference that she could now make sense of. It took her but seconds to refocus on Myka, shaking with chattering teeth beside her.

Ignoring the disturbance, as she was often inclined to do, Mrs. Frederic continued, "It appears that the Regents in question were evaluating Ms. Morgan's worth as a potential agent for the Warehouse, and weighing that possibility against the inevitable question of whether her status as an agent would provoke your resignation, Agent Bering."

"Which Regents?" Helena exacted.

"For the time being, Agent Wells," Mrs. Frederick eyed her speculatively, "that information remains irrelevant."

"But, my mom – " Pete tried, but was abruptly overridden.

"Irrelevant?" Artie hissed. "Irrelevant?! Everything we do here rests on the sound judgment of the Regents! It is not irrelevant!"

"The matter will be dealt with," Mrs. Frederic ambiguously replied, arching a challenging eyebrow into her hairline. "The more pressing affair is Agent Bering."

"No," Myka insisted, eyes narrowing to slits. "No," she shook her head. "These pages," she said, lifting the file in her quivering grasp, "need to be neutralized, before anything else."

"Myka," Helena tried, "Mrs. Frederic seems quite confident that the Warehouse is, in some way, correlated with your illness. Perhaps you ought to discuss this – "

"I'm not discussing anything until someone bags these damn sheets of paper," she huffed, though it emerged as more of a wheeze as her anger deteriorated her already fragile body. "She has been studied, Helena," she persuaded. "For a year, Savannah has been dipping in and out of… of awareness, so that a group of my bosses can assess her observational abilities, of all things. And right now, my only reassurance that the Regents responsible are receiving retribution is that 'the matter will be dealt with,'" Myka hissed. "So, I'm sorry, Mrs. Frederic, but this conversation leads to a dead end unless you're giving me permission to neutralize these and give my cousin the peace of mind that she deserves."

Mrs. Frederic took several steps closer before removing a familiar silver bag from the lining of her jacket, wordlessly extending it to Myka's palm.

"Thank you," Myka murmured, and when her eyes met Mrs. Frederic's, Helena could see honest and grateful sincerity laced between the murky green that she had grown to treasure.

Helena tightened her fingers over Myka's arm, and earned a small, loving smile in reward.

"Duck and cover, love," Helena advised, meeting Savannah's gaze.

It occurred to her that this was Savannah's first visit to the Warehouse, and that, while she guarded a very dangerous artifact, she knew very little about the functions of the snag, bag, and tag process.

"Huh?" Savannah scrunched up her nose in confusion.

Rolling her eyes, Helena shifted to gently press on the back of her head, effectively ducking it downward, and she shielded her view with her remaining available hand just before Myka dropped the pages into the silver bag.

"What the hell was that?" Savannah yelped, gripping her head through blinding pain, if her expression was anything to go by.

"Are you alright?" Myka asked her.

Savannah nodded as she rubbed her temple, but said softly, "That hurt like a bitch, Mykey."

"But it's gone now?" Myka pressed worriedly.

"Yeah," Savannah nodded. "What's with all the sparks and whatnot?"

"That's what the artifacts do when they're neutralized," Steve explained.

"So much cooler with the goo, though," Claudia asserted.

"Right?" Pete agreed, punching out his fist to meet Claudia's.

"For sure," Claudia nodded.

Myka leaned back against the wall, deflated and weak, but she sighed when Helena moved so that she could shuffle her fingers through her lover's curly locks, and appreciatively leaned into the affectionate touch. Helena brushed a kiss over her cheek softly, and regarded Mrs. Frederic with her most demanding expression.

Myka was ill. Mrs. Frederic had assured her that the Warehouse would help, and with Braid's manuscript securely zipped in neutralizing foil, the Caretaker could now share how the Warehouse could aide Myka.

"You were compelled to stand there," Mrs. Frederic declared, dark eyes locked determinedly to Myka's. "Why?"

Helena evaluated Myka with intensity. She seemed hesitant, and she drew her lip between her teeth before offering a small and vulnerable shrug. "I don't know," she confessed.

"Fortunately for you, Agent Bering," Mrs. Frederic strode forward and pressed her palm to the block of stone that Myka's fingers trailed against, "I do."

The wall broke down before them like a dismantled puzzle, stone falling to rubble at their feet as dust clouded over their eyes. And behind it, there lay darkness. There was nothing there. It was void of light, as far as Helena could discern – and she attempted to discern for quite some time.

"Come, Agent Bering," Mrs. Frederic instructed with a small grin as she took a minuscule step forward. "Endless wonder awaits you."